(I am driving with my grandmother. She spots a sign for ‘The Habit’, a burger joint)

Grandmother: “Oh! I wonder where that is.”

Me: “It looks like it’s right there.”

(I point in the general direction.)

Grandmother: “Oh! There’s The Hobbit!”

Me: “Its Habit, not Hobbit.”

Grandmother: “Oh, so it’s not the movie?”

(My mum is pregnant with me. My parents don’t have a car, so the emergency plan for labour starting while my dad is at work is for my grandmother to pick up my dad, and then take the both of them to the hospital.)

Mum: “Mum, it’s happening right now!”

Grandmother: “I’ll be right there!”

(More time passes than Mum expects, and the pain is bad. She gets in the shower to try to ease it. My two-year-old brother comes in.)

Brother: “What are you doing?”

Mum: “It’s okay, sweetheart; I’m fine.”

(My brother proceeds to join my mother in the shower, fully clothed. Mum gets both of them out quickly, but is in too much pain to change my brother’s clothes. She calls my grandmother again, but there’s no answer. She goes into the bedroom and tries to breathe. The phone rings.)

Mum: “[Brother], can you get the phone please?”

Brother: “Hello? …no, mummy can’t come to the phone.”

Mum: “Tell them the baby’s coming, [brother].”

Brother: “She’s in the shower.”

(The phone rings several more times, and my brother supplies increasingly alarming answers to why mum can’t come to the phone, such as ‘she’s asleep on the kitchen floor’ and ‘she’s dead’. My grandmother FINALLY shows up.)

Grandmother: “Are you ready to go?”

Mum: “I’m not going anywhere! The baby’s coming now! What took you so long?!”

Grandmother: “Well, I had to have a shower, and put makeup on.”

Mum: “What?!”

Grandmother: “You need to get to the hospital—”

Mum: “Not happening; change [brother], he’s soaking wet, and tell [dad] to call an ambulance!”

(My dad does so, and my grandmother comforts my brother, who, by this stage, has no idea what’s going on and is panicking. My mum sits, legs crossed, on the bed, trying to wait for the ambulance, but she can’t. She stands, gives birth, and catches me. My brother gets away from my grandmother and runs into the room.)

Brother: “THERE’S BLOOD EVERYWHERE! THERE’S BLOOD EVERYWHERE!”

Grandmother: “Oh, that’s not blood; that’s the baby’s poo. Naughty baby; pooing everywhere.”

(My mother is in shock, and doesn’t move. The ambulance arrives, and the paramedics cut the cord and get me wrapped up in a blanket.)

Paramedic #1: “I am AMAZED you managed to catch her!”

Paramedic #2: “I’m amazed you managed to stay in control at all with all this going on around you! Lucky there were no complications! With the baby, I mean.”

(Both mum and I come out of the whole thing fine, but my brother spends a year poking his head under toilet doors, asking people what coloured poo they are having, thanks to my grandmother.)

(My mom and I are visiting my grandmother for a few days. We help her make dinner, and sit down to eat. I can’t help noticing how she watches how I hold my fork.)

Grandmother: “I am so glad you don’t hold your fork like your brother!”

(My brother holds his fork with an outstretched pinky finger.)

Me: “What do you mean? Oh, the whole pinky thing? Yeah, I guess it’s a little weird.”

Grandmother: “Yes! I’m worried that when he does it, people will think he’s queer!”

(There is an awkward silence. I put down my fork.)

Me: “Um… what?”

Grandmother: “Queer! You know… gay!”

Mother: “We know what queer means, mother!”

(My mother and I were pretty weirded out by that statement. The kicker? I came out as a lesbian a couple of years after my grandmother’s passing, and I sure didn’t hold my fork the ‘queer’ way!)

(We are at a family get together with my cousins and grandparents. My older cousins have historically always gone out at night before, got trashed, and have eaten everything in the house. My grandpa is fed up, and decides to leave a note for them.)

Grandpa: “If you touch any of this, I will break your fingers knuckle by knuckle.”

(Sure enough, everything is there the next morning.)

(I was a home birth at my Grandparent’s house; not a hospital. I was born around six in the morning. My Nana is telling me of how my three-year-old brother woke them up with the news.)

Nana: “…so he rushes in and starts yelling ‘I’ve got a baby brother! I’ve got a baby brother!’. Then your dad comes in and says, ‘No you don’t, you’ve got a baby SISTER!’.”

(I am nodding, having heard this story before.)

Nana: *smiling* “Well, I guess he was right after all, wasn’t he?”

(This is our first conversation after I come out to her as transgender. My Nana is the best!)